Miss Frink, who had sent the nurse out of the room when she entered, went back to the bedside, and opened a package she had brought in with her. Hugh’s one violet eye rolled toward her listlessly. It suddenly brightened. Miss Frink had never looked so shame-faced in her life.
“You see, I went out and bought them myself, and not having the least idea what you liked I told the man to give me a variety.” The handsome box she opened held a number of packages of cigarettes, all of a different brand, and the lover-like smile Hugh gave her as his eager right hand shot out made color come up in the guilty face.
“Perhaps the nurse won’t let you, I don’t know,” she said hurriedly—“here, let me strike the match for you, it is awful to have only one hand!”
The cigarette was lighted, Miss Frink called the nurse, and fled to the study where her secretary was busily sorting papers at his desk. He was a smooth-shaven man in his late thirties, immaculate in appearance, his retreating hair giving him a very high forehead, and his small mouth with its full lips seeming an appropriate gateway for his voice and speech which were unfortunately effeminate.
“Grim,” said Miss Frink upon her sudden entrance, “Mr. Stanwood has been put in the White Room and the nurse is with him—Hello, Adèle, I didn’t see you.”
Mrs. Lumbard rose from the floor where she had been sitting Turkish fashion near the book-shelves.
“I was looking for that ‘Life of Mozart,’ Aunt Susanna. I thought the ‘Lives of the Musicians’ were on this lowest shelf.”
“No, upper. Take the ladder. Grim, I want you to go up to Mr. Stanwood’s room and get his suit of clothes, and pack them in a box and send them to his tailor with an order to duplicate the suit at once. Explain that he has been in an accident, and that the clothes and bill are to be sent to me. Here’s his trunk check. Get that, too. Adèle, why are you here? You know I wanted you to go back to the festivities.”
“I did, Aunt Susanna,” said the young woman with conscious rectitude. “I listened to the speeches and applauded, and answered a thousand questions about you. Why, you’re perfectly wonderful, Aunt Susanna. Any other woman would be lying in bed in a darkened room with a bandage around her head.”
“One bandage in the family is sufficient,” said Miss Frink, with a little excited laugh. “That poor boy upstairs looks as if he had been through the wars. And he did”—she turned acutely toward her secretary—“he did go through the war.”